


Ripple Effect

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fic, TalesWhumpWeek, starting off this prompt list with a light one tbh, water child confides in fire mom (again)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 22:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16072370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: “I believe there are some things better left unsaid—within reason.” [Mikleo, Lailah.]Done for the prompt “wounds” in the TalesWhumpWeek challenge on tumblr.





	Ripple Effect

He didn’t find it too strange when Lailah skipped dinner that night. She’d admitted to going a number of years without eating previously, after all, and despite growing up on daily mealtimes even Mikleo sometimes forgot, or simply didn’t feel like eating for a day or two. For a seraph, it wasn’t unusual.

Neither did he suspect anything when she spent most of the next day inside Sorey. It was a long trek from Gododdin to the Meadow of Triumph and beyond, and her shoes didn’t seem all that fit for long-distance walking, so once he again he thought nothing of it.

The third sign was the most telling: as talkative and animated as Lailah normally was, there was no overlooking how reserved she seemed now in comparison. She was still cheerful, still smiling and warm when she spoke, but she also seemed distracted. He thought her posture was more tense than usual, even uncomfortable, and the way she was quick to return to her vessel as soon as the conversation or battle was over only troubled him further.

The rest of the group, caught up in talk of their return to Pendrago and the matter with the Cardinal, and of finding the next spiritual powers, didn’t appear to have noticed.

* * *

They camped in the fields that evening, about half a mile from where the meadows met the pastures with their unceasing curtain of rain. There was a light touch of moisture in the air along with its damp scent, but the grass was dry and the campfire crackled and popped with its usual warmth.

Lailah volunteered for a full night’s watch. Mikleo lay awake for a while, having the sense to wait until everyone else was asleep before rising and making his way over to her. She sat on a fallen tree trunk, still as stone as she stared out across the dark fields. That was another odd thing that caught his attention: for the little while that he’d known her, she seemed to keep her hands busy more often than not, whether she was managing her long hair or folding papers into creative shapes or simply shuffling her paper slips idly. Now her hands lay in her lap, curled limply and facing one another.

He doubted it was necessary to announce his approach, but he did so anyway. “Lailah?”

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling kindly. “What are you doing awake at this hour?”

Mikleo drew close to her seat, but he didn’t invite himself to sit down. “I thought I’d see how you were doing. Lailah, are you… feeling alright?”

She blinked, that smile wavering briefly before settling on a lighter form. “Quite. Why do you ask?”

Her nonchalance made him hesitate. Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing, after all. “Well—you’ve seemed a little off ever since we left the fire shrine. I thought maybe something was wrong.” It sounded silly even as he said it; he half-expected her to look puzzled by such a misplaced observation.

On the contrary, Lailah’s expression faded to one more solemn—still smiling, but sadly. “I see.” She shook her head slowly. “I suppose I have been a bit distracted lately. But it’s nothing, really. I’m sorry if I’ve worried you, Mikleo.” Her thin fingers tightened into loose fists, drawing his gaze. She noticed, and tried to act casual as she flattened her palms against her dress, clearing her throat lightly, but that confirmed his nagging suspicion.

Normally he was one to respect privacy, but thanks to Sorey he was far too used to forcefully crossing those boundaries when necessity called for it. “How are your hands?” he asked bluntly. “Have they healed?”

Lailah’s shoulders stiffened and her next glance was a startled one. Just as quickly, the look turned sheepish, even shamefaced, as her eyes fell to her lap for a heartbeat before roaming out over the landscape again, but restlessly this time. It seemed he’d hit the nail on the head.

“I’m… sorry if I’m prying,” he offered, sparing her the grapple for an immediate reply. “I’m sure you have your reasons for not telling anyone.”

“No, it’s alright. I appreciate your concern.” She looked down at her hands, but didn’t turn them over. “They’re healing,” she said simply. For a moment that hung in the air—then, as if realizing that wasn’t much of an answer, she added, “A bit slower than they would normally, I think, but… Musiphe’s flames are intense, to say the least.” She smiled up at him again, her expression and tone a bit too light, he thought, considering the subject.

Mikleo did sit down now, although he maintained a respectful and unobtrusive distance. “Do they still hurt?”

Her gaze faltered briefly. “As you’re aware, seraphic artes aren’t a cure-all for most injuries,” she replied, in the same cool, steady tone she often used with Sorey. “Some natural healing is required, as well. So… yes, they’re a little sore, but nothing terrible,” she assured him, still with that easy smile.

_Then have you been hiding them because they look bad? Or are they really so painful that you can’t use them much?_ Either way, something about her injuries had convinced her she couldn’t be around the group without arousing suspicion.

Mikleo kept those questions to himself, and then instead asked another one as he extended his hands toward her. “May I?” When Lailah looked surprised, he admitted, “I doubt my healing artes are as strong as yours, but I might be able to help.”

If she refused, he would—reluctantly—leave it at that and not press the issue again. For a few beats she didn’t respond and he began to think he would have to do just that, but then her expression softened and she gave the smallest of grateful nods. The movement was slow, but she reached out and set both her hands, palms up, in his.

It was about as bad as he would have imagined. Her artes had cleaned up the worst of it, but her normally pale white skin was now in varying shades of pink from the tips of her fingers down to the heels of her palms. There were traces of purple and yellow in the crooks of her fingers, and even in the moonlight he could tell her skin had an unnaturally bright shine.

Running across both palms, most noticeably, were two parallel, red-brown lines. More hints of bruising ran alongside and over them. They weren’t burns, he realized, but the faded bites of steel. Her grip on Sorey’s sword had been tight enough—desperate enough—that she’d managed to cut herself on the dull blade.

For a moment Mikleo forgot his intention and simply looked over her scars, caught between some awkward words of solace and not saying anything at all. Perhaps Lailah noticed—she leaned down to try and catch his eye, her misplaced smile looking considerably less solemn than he felt.

“Staring is a great way to make a lady feel self-conscious, you know.”

He knew she was joking, but he broke out of his thoughts with a shake of his head and apologized, anyway. “I’m sorry. It… actually doesn’t look too bad, all things considered.” He was more troubled by the simple fact that she’d had to go through it to begin with.

With care he settled his thumbs along the sides of her hands, cradling rather than gripping as he concentrated. It was a little trickier than his normal healing artes; it didn’t require that much more mana, but a certain degree of focus was needed when blending elemental and non-elemental artes, regardless of the base arte’s complexity.

It turned out he was a bit rusty, not having used it recently, and despite the jab to his pride he closed his eyes (a tactic he generally hadn’t used since childhood) to concentrate his attention wholly on the effort. There was a soft glow against his eyelids and he felt Lailah react, tensing up slightly before quickly relaxing again. Once he was in the familiar rhythm of it, he reduced the arte to a light, steady stream that he could manage unconsciously as he looked up at her.

There was a look of warm gratitude on her face, sincere and kind enough to make him feel a little self-conscious. To break the silence, Mikleo explained as he glanced aside, “It’s… something I came up with as a kid. Sometimes Sorey and I would build a fire when we went into Elysia’s ruins. We… well, mostly _he_ would burn himself occasionally.”

“So on top of the healing properties, you infuse water to help soothe the burn,” she deduced. She sounded impressed.

He nodded, unable to help a small, pleased smile. “Correct. Although it’s been a while since I’ve had to use it; you did a good job managing our injuries at Igraine.”

Lailah gave a thoughtful hum. “Normally burns _are_ most effectively healed by fire seraphim. It’s rare for a seraph to master healing properties outside of one’s given element. For you to do so at such a young age is commendable, Mikleo.” There was something like pride in her tone and expression, not unlike how the seraphim back home had praised him when he quickly caught on to difficult lessons as a child.

“I had good teachers,” he replied, nonchalant.

“Indeed. I imagine the seraphim of Elysia have much wisdom and insight to offer.”

An easy silence followed. Realizing he’d fallen to staring at her scarred palms again, Mikleo redirected his gaze out across the meadow. Lailah was content to close her eyes, returning, perhaps, to whatever deep thoughts she’d had before he interrupted.

She was the one to break the connection, eventually. Turning her hands over, she gave his a light, grateful squeeze with a smile to match. “Thank you, Mikleo. I feel much better now.” Her touch withdrew to settle again in her lap. “But you really should rest, and recover your energy for tomorrow’s journey.”

He nodded, but he didn’t move yet. With the healing over, he felt a little more free to voice his thoughts—hopefully without the implication that she owed him an answer. He hesitated a few moments, but then decided again that being direct was best. “You’re hiding it from him, aren’t you.”

Lailah stared at him, her face falling to something neutral almost immediately. Then, quietly, she sighed, and dropped her chin towards her chest with a hum sounding low in her throat. Mikleo took it as an affirmative even before she spoke.

“This may sound hypocritical, coming from me… You and I have both told Sorey that he takes too much on himself, after all. But I believe there are some things better left unsaid—within reason.” She met his gaze once more, and gone was the sadness and the hesitation in hers. It was a steady, firm look now. “I acted entirely at my own discretion, and I do not regret doing so. But I had no intention of sacrificing any part of myself—on the contrary, what I told Sorey was also in my best interest. At least... I acted with the belief that it was. Time will tell if my choice was the correct one,” she added, one side of her mouth curving into a wry smile.

Mikleo was given a short pause to think that over. So she hadn’t acted impulsively and merely to protect Sorey, but according to her own beliefs, as well? Was that really any different from what Sorey strayed towards again and again: burdening himself with a weight he shouldn’t have to carry alone? Or was _that_ the difference—in convincing Sorey to trust her, she, too, had trusted him in return, and they had leaned on one another instead of weighing themselves down individually?

Whatever the case, it was complicated, Mikleo realized.

“I want to see him succeed as Shepherd,” Lailah continued, “and I want him to keep his sense of self, as well. My hands will recover, but wounds of the heart and mind are not so easily healed. If I can spare him some of that burden, I’ll do so. That was my answer at Igraine.”

Just like Edna, who had pressed Mikleo to secrecy on the cost of lending her power, Lailah would conceal her pain from Sorey, for his sake. Mikleo understood that much—agreed, even—but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

Her gentle voice had gained the hard edge of certitude in those last words, but it eased up again as she added, “I believe it isn’t necessarily the path we choose, but the thoughts and convictions that lead us down that path, which determine who we are and where we stand in this life. And it is that same concept upon which the balance of malevolence and purity is maintained.”

“The path, and the reason for taking it,” Mikleo echoed quietly. He frowned. “Are the two really so different?”

“What do you think?” Lailah asked patiently. “Has everything you’ve seen on this journey so far been strictly black and white?”

“No. On the contrary, there are a lot more grey areas than I would have once imagined. Malevolence, the Shepherd’s duty… even human society as a whole. There’s a lot I still don’t understand,” he admitted. That kind of confession didn’t come easy from him, but he found Lailah surprisingly easy to talk to and confide in, and she had promised her silence on more matters than one already. 

Burdens, beliefs, responsibilities—simple words, easy concepts that could be either positive or negative, beneficial or detrimental, depending on the person and situation. As she had pointed out, nothing was so black and white.

Sorey and Rose were a perfectly imperfect example of that idea, weren’t they? A pure heart that abhorred and feared killing, and another that accepted its necessity entirely. Different beliefs, different paths, and yet...

Lailah gingerly placed one hand atop his. Her palm felt too warm, the skin too dry. “Don’t think on it too much,” she advised softly. “Sorey isn’t the only one who stands to learn much from this journey. I believe you’ll come to understand what I mean, with time.”

He hoped so.

“But for now, think of it this way,” Lailah proposed: “Strive to be honest with both yourself and others. As long as you mean well, your intentions will speak for you.”

_Strive to be honest._ It wasn’t as though Mikleo was _dis_ honest, but he did have trouble being totally truthful, more often with his feelings than with his thoughts. He didn’t _deny_ them, however—and denial wasn’t the same as being indirect, anyway. Denial would have ended his part in this journey before now.

_That was my answer at Igraine._

What would his have been in that situation?

What _would_ it be, should he face it in the future?

“...I think I understand,” he said slowly. “At least, I see what you’re getting at.” And if it was like most of her advice up to now, she expected him to comprehend it in his own time, based on his own conclusions. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Lailah looked pleased.

Unwilling to make her ask for privacy a second time, Mikleo stood, but inquired as he did so, “Are you sure you don’t want to split up the watch?”

She shook her head. “It’s alright. I still have some thoughts to sort out, and I find the night sky to be a suiting backdrop for doing so.”

That earned her a crooked smile. “Alright. Let me know if your injuries start hurting again.”

“Yes—I’ll be sure to tell you if they take a _burn_ for the worse!” She chuckled, clearly proud of herself, as Mikleo struggled not to sigh. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disturbed by the persistence of her humor in this case.

“...Right.” He only just held back the sarcastic thought that followed— _It’s too bad I don’t have a cure for bad jokes_ —but his exasperation was obvious all the same.

Either unaware or unperturbed, Lailah only hummed softly to herself as she turned away and resumed her thoughtful vigil.


End file.
